Degnoming
by Carnicirthial
Summary: After Fred's death, George finds a distraction by watching a future employee degnome his mother's garden. One shot, CONSTRUCTIVE criticisms welcome.


Plot, original character, and my soul, all belong to me. The rest is Mrs. Rowling's, and I have no intention on ever infringing on her copyright again, so help me God.

That said, please enjoy.

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George concentrated very hard. He was convinced that he almost had it. There! He whispered at his brother's wand, and he could swear that his word's echoed back with the slight difference of Fred that only George was ever able to detect. He tried again, with better results. He did his best not to be carried away with ideas of having conversations with Fred… But still, the thoughts crept around like gnomes in the garden. Suddenly, his mother's voice cut through his concentration. It was leaking from the end of a spare Extendable Ear he'd planted by the front door so that he would in advance know when to be pretending to be asleep when someone came to tell him he had visitors. Only once had he went down. After that, he decided that he would no more allow former friends and acquaintances try to express their "understanding."

"Yes? How may I help you?" That would be Mum.

"I'm looking for Mr. Weasley, Ma'am."

"I'm afraid he's at work, miss."

There was a pause. "But… the shop's still empty."

The girl with whom she was speaking had a slight accent; although it was clear she was British, the accent suggested she'd been away from home for a long period of time.

"The shop?" His mother was confused. "Oh, you mean George."

Mrs. Weasley knew about the Ear. He pictured her stealing a glance at it before answering. "I'm sorry, but he isn't feeling well."

Another pause. "I'm very sorry about your son, Mrs. Weasley. I understand – Actually, I don't understand. I wish very much, though, that I did. I'm sure that Mr. Weasley misses… um, Mr. Weasley more than I can comprehend. I would like very much, if you would permit me, to do anything I can to help." She was convincing. But he doubted his mother would fall for it. She was a shrewd little lady, if one knew her well enough.

"I'm sorry, miss, but I'm really sure there's nothing you can do." What's this? Mum sounded like she wished there was something the girl would do.

Another pause. Probably awkward. "I noticed, not to be rude, that you have a gnome problem. Could I perhaps tackle the garden before I go?" She was offering to de-gnome the garden? The most loathed of all chores? What did she want so desperately of him that she would stick around to de-gnome the garden?

"Why… Why of course, dear." His mother was a sap. Forget about being shrewd. Offer to do a chore, and you were on her good side for sure. Typical, he thought.

But nevertheless he was intrigued. His window looked over the gnomey garden, and he peered just in time to see the girl tackle her first gnome. She looked about Ron's age, at least Ginny's, so perhaps she couldn't use magic yet. Somehow he doubted it. Her shock of brown hair was tamed by a bright red headband, pulling all but a few wisps back, leaving the rest to puff comically out behind the red stripe. Her robes were of the American phenomenon of bright stripes and many holes, but where most Americans paid highly for the worn out robes, hers were decidedly genuine. She wore them with comfort, but at the same time the many patches and the calm cream blouse and jeans peeking out suggested that her own tastes were more sensible and less showy. This about her he liked.

She surveyed the garden, and was rewarded with a rock thrown at her head. It hit her square in the forehead, and with greater force than the blow warranted, she threw herself backwards. The offending gnome, thinking he'd finally killed one of them, waddled up to her, followed by what George expected to be impressed she-gnomes. He leaned against her, displaying his kill. About ten gnomes had gathered around her lifeless body, when she jumped up, snatching three stump-like legs in each hand and squashing two more between her knees. The two between her knees wiggled free, but nevertheless she was pleased. Her grin was small, much smaller than George's would have been had he caught six gnomes in one swipe. Of course, that was assuming Fred had also been gnome catching with him.

The young lady realized she had nothing to do with the gnomes. Finally, she decided to sit on two in her right hand, and transferred the remaining to her left. She extracted her wand with excessive difficulty, seeing as the two gnomes on which she was sitting were trying to bite her buttocks. One succeeded, producing a large profanity in a small whisper. This gnome, he noted, was the first the be strung up. He didn't hear the charm, but one by one six silvery ropes wound out of her wand and around the legs and feet of each gnome, then around a nearby tree branch, effectively hog tying the little pests.

She then sat down. Gnomes, George discovered, are big on families. By catching six of them, she had insured that every gnome would try and make a rescue. He also discovered that they weren't very smart. She would turn her back, anywhere between one and seven gnomes would make a run for it, she'd snatch up as many as she could hold, hog tied her captives, rinse, lather, and repeat. This continued until the old tree looked like it's perverse fruit was gnomes, not crab apples. About twenty of the beasts swung from the tree, looking very angry with the girl and screaming the expletives that he and Fred had taught them. Satisfied that no more gnomes would come at her, she spawned ten more ropes from her wand, all of which went slithering away into the flower bed. Soon, they returned with hog tied gnomes headed for the tree. She was clever, he had to give her that.

She hated gnomes. Her least favorite part of growing up had been de-gnoming. Even now, with her own version of a binding charm, it was tedious. These gnomes were stupid though. The gnomes at home had caught onto her tricks quickly. She'd never once been able to catch the entire population so easily. It was really a surprise, then, that the gnomes hadn't rushed her yet. She watched as another gnome was strung up, lost in thought about her parents before the divorce, when suddenly she heard a distinctive gnome war cry.

She turned in time to see two gnomes attack her knees, sending her to the ground. A third gnome chomped at her sides, trying to get her to lower her raised hands. Giving up on that, it scaled her robes and began pulling at her mess of hair. One of the gnomes that had gone for her knees grabbed her wand hand and bit down hard on the wrist, making her drop her wand. The fourth gnome, the one unoccupied with gnawing on her, had one of her enchanted ropes and began to hog tie her as well. She cried out as the hair gnome gave a particularly hard tug, and moments later Mrs. Weasley and her son, who she guessed correctly to be George, came rounding the corner. Mrs. Weasley stopped, totally flabbergasted by the sight of her crab apple tree bearing gnomes instead. George, who had watched most of what had happened, was surprised to see her beset with gnomes and pulled the first two gnomes off, flinging them over the hedges with a flick of his wand. The hair gnome, seeing his attack going awry, leapt from her head and dived for the bushes, but George caught its stumpy ankle and with another flick sent it flying further than the other two. It was quickly followed by the fourth gnome, who'd been trying to make a get away. Mrs. Weasley had detangled the girl from her own robes and was beginning to patch up the gnome bites.

"My goodness, I've never seen gnomes do that before!" Mrs. Weasley fussed.

"Oh that's nothing. The gnomes in my mother's garden had figured out how to sharpen the stones and I had to do the whole thing with my feet firmly planted in a washtub."

George had a wonderful image of a young version of the girl nabbing gnomes that were assaulting her bathtub. He looked over, a small smile on his lips, and caught her gazing at him. She blushed, but nevertheless stuck out her hand.

"Alice Gonring."

He took the hand. "George Weasley."

There was an awkward silence. Mrs. Weasley, seeing that George had, for once, no intention of retreating to his room, retreated first, muttering about tea although it was only ten in the morning. Alice, having nothing to say, turned to the tree. She pointed her wand at a knot, which untied itself and floated, despite the heavy gnome, to her open hand. She then pointed to the field where George had sent the previous four, and the string went rocketing off, gnome in tow.

George watched her treat several more gnomes this way, examining how she moved her wrist and fingers. He'd only seen a few spells, none of which had been taught in school, where complex finger movements were required. At most, Hogwarts taught spells that might move a finger or two. This was because incantations, wrist and arm movements, and concentrating on the object of the spell were more than many students could handle, let alone a complex pattern of finger dances on the wand. There was also a school of thought that believed that the wand should always be held a certain way to avoid losing one's grip. Despite all this, however, her fingers moved up the shaft when she was pointing at a string and then arced above the patterned grip when throwing the gnome.

"Did you make up that spell?"

She jumped, and dropped her gnome. Forgetting her wand, she dived for the string as the creature hopped away. Clutching the string with the swinging pest, she turned and faced him. "Yeah, I did. My mom always had me de-gnome the garden as a kid. I'd use nets and barrels and traps and such, but nothing ever lasted long. Then when I was legal, I used magic. Problem with basic spells was always that the gnomes could dodge them. So I had to catch them by hand, and then I had no where to put them. It just sort of came out of that." She paused before asking, "How'd you know?"

He motioned to her wand, which was laying on the lawn. "I saw that you were moving your fingers. Not many spells do that."

She blushed. "I know you're not supposed to, but it just doesn't work quite right without it."

"It obviously works for you, so it can't be that bad."

She nodded. Looking down, she finally noticed the gnome, which was trying to gnaw through the silver rope. She swung it around and sent it bouncing into the distance.

George watched her turn back to the tree. Fred would have a great idea for the mischief they could do with a charm like that. No one would be able to walk through the house for fear of being attacked by crawling little strings. "Could you teach me?"

His question perplexed her. But nevertheless she nodded. The next half hour was spent teaching him to conjure the ropes, and then controlling them with various flicks and twists. A certain consciousness of the individual strings had to be maintained at all times, or else they would dissipate, and George could maintain no more than ten or twenty at a time. He was impressed that she could easily capture an entire gnome population and still teach him without dropping a single pest.

He flopped on the lawn once he'd figured it out and sent several strings flitting around the lawn, enacting snake fights and making simple shapes. He'd learned by watching her strings and his that each person created a different type. While hers were very silvery, there was a slight tarnish, yet his had a greenish tint. His were also easier to maintain while kept moving, and hers were clearly content staying still. While he played around with the new charm, testing his own limits, she finished removing the gnomes.

Her movements were not extravagant, despite her clothing suggesting otherwise. He imagined that politically she was conservative, while supporting certain controversial and unpopular issues, such as the equal treatment of goblins in the business sphere. And although she was no older than Ron, she seemed very weary. The war had left no wizard unscathed in some way, although it had been worst at home. He wondered how it had affected her. Feeling weary himself, he acknowledged that she was someone whom he would allow to return, should she wish to.

Alice turned, and saw him examining her unabashedly. "I'm done."

He looked to the tree and saw that it was devoid of gnomes. He realized he'd be sad to see her go. "Would you like to stay for lunch?"

She looked down. "I'd like to, but you see, I need to look for a job. I came here to ask you for one, but your shop isn't open, and judging from your demeanor, you don't intend to reopen it. No one really wants to employ someone who hasn't even graduated from school, and I need to support myself. The muggle life insurance only goes so far, after all."

He seized on the revelation about her. "You lost someone, then?"

Her eyes were stony, suddenly. "I'm sure you'll understand if I'd rather not talk about it."

He stood up. He was a head taller than her and had to subsequently look down. "I lost my twin. I lost part of me. I can understand your grief."

"I'm sure you can, Mr. Weasley." She walked to the front gate, ignoring him.

He panicked. "Wait," he called. "Don't go."

She turned. "Why not?"

He trotted to where she stood. "I can't reopen the shop. Please understand that. But we were on good terms with most of the shop owners around us. I could get you a job."

She said nothing, sensing an unspoken but.

He fulfilled the expectation. "I'll get you a job. But only if you come back. Once a week."

She cocked her head to one side. The offer didn't repulse her, he could tell that much. "And do what, Mr. Weasley?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure. Teach me more spells you've invented, perhaps."

She examined him for a moment. "Perhaps. Perhaps you also want someone to talk to."

He didn't smile. But his face relaxed. "Perhaps. And perhaps you'll call me George."

She smiled, that small smile he'd seen earlier.

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Reviews appreciated, flames must be left at the door. 


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